Leon and I ventured down into bowels of Cripps Court at Queens' for the last time on Saturday. MR2 has been our home for the best part of three years now and we felt rather sad at the prospect of leaving. But I've come to the conclusion that paying fees for another degree wouldn't make economic sense if all I'm going to get out of it is access to a practice room 100 miles away.
That's not to say the place hasn't got on our tits in the past. The time we dragged ALL our gear down there, including Barto's new kit, played two notes before some drippy squib of an undergrad came down and informed us that they were performing Ibsen in the hall and could we 'please turn it down' springs to mind.
To mark the occasion we had a nice thrash and left a little vile tag, 'I was here but I disappear!'
Credit should be given to Cat, whose name we only learnt on Saturday. She was the barmaid who was always nice to us when we bought cider and Guinness at practices. She made us feel special, perhaps she makes everyone feel special, but I'll venture that she doesn't tell everyone they look 24 and invite them to join her and her friends for a night out at Kambar! If that doesn't warrent a little winking bastard emoticon mother fucker I don't know what does!
